


My Roots Entangle the Universe (and your arms protect me)

by KibblerEars



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Brooklyn, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Dorks in Love, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Sick Steve Rogers, Vaguely crack, ambiguous time period, caretaker bucky barnes, giggling brooklyn boys, lord steve rogers was born a rambling man, mostly just silliness, steve has ideas about the universe, stoned on cold meds steve rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 14:49:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10220627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KibblerEars/pseuds/KibblerEars
Summary: Sucking in a deep breath, he launched himself - gently, of course, no need to break him - onto the pile of blankets and Steve.Steve squealed -squealed- when Bucky landed on him, instinctively curling further in on himself even as he hiccuped out a few laughs. After a long moment, he finally moved the blankets covering his head to offer Bucky a weak glare.“D’ya mind?”--Steve's sick (again) and Bucky's a Good Boyfriend (like always, shut up, Steve). In which there's cold meds, Brooklyn shenanigans, and the ramblings of a stoned-Steve.What more could you want?





	

**Author's Note:**

> This wreck of words is an extremely late birthday present for Amy - I'm so sorry it's so late, please forgive me! I may have taken something once, twice, thrice discussed over various months, texts, and cons, and expounded on it in the form of a stoned-on-cold-meds Steve Rogers! I hope you enjoy and I hope your birthday, this year, and all the years to come are truly amazing for you - you deserve all the best and all the ridiculous Seb gifs in the world!
> 
> Edited to the best of my ability - sorry in advance!
> 
> Hope you enjoy! Kudos and comments are much appreciated! <3

Bucky couldn’t see Steve’s tiny body, huddled underneath what seemed like every blanket and pillow they owned. Which, admittedly, weren’t that many, but compared to Steve, well...Bucky cut that train of thought off before Steve developed mind-reading abilities and tried to sock him on the jaw for it. Knowing his buddy, Bucky would be left cleaning up split knuckles when Steve broke them on his face.

“Stevie?” He called out, keeping his voice soft in case Steve was asleep. The kid had spent most of last night hacking up a lung so Bucky was hoping against hope that he was actually _sleeping_ for once, if only to stave off another bout of pneumonia.

The lump twitched but there was no answer. Grinning to himself, Bucky advanced on the bed, shedding his jacket and dropping it in a wet heap on the floor as he went. His socks were next, Bucky hopping on one foot as he tossed each one aside. A brief pause to undo his shirt cuffs before pulling the pale blue dress shirt over his head without unbuttoning it, followed by an awkward shimmy to escape his practically painted-on skinny jeans. Goosebumps pimpled along his bare skin as the chill of their barely-heated apartment seeped into him.

He crept closer to the bed, looming over the unmoving lump. “Stevieeee,” he called out once more. His earlier reluctance to wake his best buddy had vanished when the lump moved the first time. The second the Steve-lump had made the mistake of twitching was the moment Steve had determined his fate tonight. 

Again, the lump twitched and Bucky’s grin grew. Sucking in a deep breath, he launched himself - gently, of course, no need to break him - onto the pile of blankets and Steve.

Steve squealed - _squealed_ \- when Bucky landed on him, instinctively curling further in on himself even as he hiccuped out a few laughs. After a long moment, he finally moved the blankets covering his head to offer Bucky a weak glare. 

“D’ya mind?” 

Beaming, Bucky just leaned in to smack a wet kiss on Steve’s worryingly warm cheek. He pulled back with a frown, hand pressing against Steve’s forehead. Steve grunted and bat his hand away but Bucky had years of practice in avoiding that cold little claw of his. 

His hand slid down to cup Steve’s jaw, thumb brushing along Steve’s cheekbone, high and prominent on his slender face. “When did the fever start, babe?” 

Steve huffed as he shifted against Bucky to hide his face in Bucky’s neck, a quiet mumble that Bucky supposed was meant to be an answer filling the space between them. He let out a soothing hum, hand stroking along Steve’s back, knowing if he just waited, Steve would get frustrated again and just tell Bucky what he wanted to know. 

“Just after you left,” the kid finally muttered, just barely loud enough for Bucky to hear. He did some quick math - when he left for work plus how likely it was Steve was lying. Add it all together and it means Steve’s been running a fever since last night. How he got that past Bucky, Bucky doesn’t know, but he’ll worry about killing him later. 

“You’re a punk.” It’s said soft, fond, and followed by a gentle kiss to Steve’s hot brow. “I’ll go make some tea and get your meds. Don’t move.” 

Steve mutters something that vaguely sounds like “jerk” but his head is already disappearing back into the cocoon of blankets. Bucky just chuckles and watches the lump for a moment before he heads back out to get started on dinner, tea, and meds. Not necessarily in that order. 

\--

  


What Bucky always seems to forget, no matter how many times they go through this a year, is that Steve-stoned-on-cold-meds is the funniest fucking thing. 

“I’m jus’sayin’,” Steve’s protest is interrupted by a series of hiccups that has Bucky doubled over with laughter. When he finally catches his breath, he glances back up to find Steve now honest-to-god pouting at him. All remnants of laughter die away at how fucking adorable the punk looks. It’s like the time Bucky ate the last ice pop all over again. (That stopped being funny after Steve kicked him out of bed for a week. Now, Bucky makes sure the freezer is stocked with enough ice pops to survive an apocalypse. If they didn’t lose power, anyway.)

Not bothering to hide his broad grin, Bucky reaches out to tug Steve over ontop his lap. It’s a sign of how stoned Steve is that the smaller man lets him get away with it at all. Normally he’d be all about protesting how he’s “not a fuckin’ lapdog, Barnes,” which may make them both laugh at the time, but also sometimes brings a sad smile to Bucky’s face. There’s a deep part of him that would love to have Steve cuddled in his lap, well, all the time. 

Steve shifts in Bucky’s lap, digging his bony little ass into Bucky’s groin and sharply reminding Bucky just why “all the time” is far from fucking true. 

“Ow, Stevie, Jesus Christ!” He yelps, grabbing Steve’s waist to stop him from moving anymore. Bucky pauses when he sees the mischievous grin on Steve’s face - the little shit knew exactly what he was doing. Mock-growling, Bucky’s grip relaxes and immediately sets out to tickle his ill-and-drugged boyfriend.

“Ya gonna listen now, jerk?” Steve shoots back, surprisingly clear for how drugged he is at the moment. Bucky rolls his eyes, shifting both of them in the ugly red armchair they had dragged in from the street when they first moved into this crummy apartment. 

Once comfortable, he waves a hand at Steve, “go for it, punk. Hit me with your best shot.” 

Steve gets this stupidly dreamy look on his face as he goes limp in Bucky’s lap. “T’universe, Buck. It’s not...it’s not just _one_. It’s like, like a tree, y’know? I’m the trunk, the Steve-trunk’n’alllllllll the branches are jus’different Steves, livin’ their lives one fight at a time.” 

“If there’s all these different Steves, how do you know one of them wouldn’t be smart enough to avoid getting into all kinds of scraps?”

He rolls his head against Bucky’s shoulder, glaring at his boyfriend. “Cuz we’re still all Steve, Buck. But somewhere there’s a Steve that’s...that’s big’n’tall’n’coulda kicked Tommy Kilkernan’s ass back in the fourth grade.” 

Bucky muffles a laugh in Steve’s hair. Of all the scraps Bucky’s pulled Steve’s ass out of over the years, Steve’s never once gotten over how well Tommy managed to beat his ass. Steve had gone toe-to-toe with the biggest bully in school after Tommy had threatened to sic his older brothers on Sammy Moskato for not giving him her lunch. It wasn’t the first time Steve had fought Tommy, but it was the first time Tommy had managed to actually whoop Steve’s ass so hard, Steve couldn’t see out of his left eye for days. (Steve and Sammy had managed to break Tommy’s right thumb and give him a killer shiner themselves. As far as Bucky was concerned, it had been a pretty even outcome. Just don’t tell Steve.) 

“Is that the only thing these other Steves do? Fight?” He hopes somewhere out there, someone is proud of just how straight a face Bucky is keeping right now. Because this is one of the hardest things he's had to do (that didn't involve Steve's dick, anyway).

Steve lets out a frustrated whine and the furrow between his brows gets deeper as he frowns in thought. “Course not. There’s...oh, there’s a vampire Steve out there, I bet. All su-suave’n’handsome’n’hundreds of years old. He’s got, like, a vampire army and, like, rules the underworld.” 

Even Bucky can’t stop his laughter at that one and he clutches Steve tight to him as he laughs. Steve’s bony little fingers poke his cheeks until he calms down enough to say, “rules the underworld? Really, Stevie? Ya sure think highly of your vampire self.” 

“Oh, and dun fuhgeddabout Sandra!” 

“Would that be your vampire queen in this little scenario?” He tries not to sound hurt that Steve wouldn’t imagine them being badass vampire mob bosses together. After all, _he’s_ perfectly sober, thank you very much. He doesn’t need a stoned Steve to tell him they’d be kickass vampires-in-arms.

...he should really stop while he’s ahead here. 

“Psssh, noooo,” Steve bats at Bucky’s arm, “Sandra’s me as a woman. She’s tall’n’gorgeous. You’d like her.” 

Bucky shakes his head, tilting Steve’s head up so he can meet the drugged gaze of his boyfriend. “Y’know what I think, punk?”  
Steve purses his lips, frowning hard as if actually trying to read Bucky’s mind. Finally, he sighs and pouts at Bucky again, “only universe 495’n’1087 Steves are telek-teple...telepathic. Universe one Steve is just…” he makes a vague hand gesture at...well, all of him. Bucky’s heart breaks just a bit and he unconsciously tightens his hold on the smaller man. 

Brushing his lips over Steve’s fevered - but cooling - brow, Bucky keeps Steve as close as he can as he drops his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Well, I think that Universe one Steve is the bee’s knees. And that Sandra and number 495, 1087, and all the numbers in between or beyond...they’re just pale imitations of my Stevie.”

A quiet whine escapes Steve’s throat and he twists in Bucky’s arms to bury his face in Bucky’s neck, “shut up, jerk.” 

“I could...or I could tell you about how I bet vampire Steve doesn’t blush the way you do.” 

There’s a pregnant pause before Steve snorts, “well, course not. He’s a _vampire_.” 

Bucky laughs, “fair point. But I bet he also doesn’t do that adorable little butt wiggle you do when you’re cooking in the kitchen.”

“ _No one_ should do that,” Steve grumbles into his neck. Bucky just ignores him and keeps going. 

“Sandra may be tall, but she’d never be able to fit so snugly in my arms at night. And I bet her eyes don’t get so gorgeously wide and dark the way yours do when I’ve got you on your back under me, desperate and aching for me to suck that cock of yours.”

He can feel Steve suck in a sharp breath against his skin and he bites down on the slow grin that’s threatening to slip over his face. His hand takes up rubbing Steve’s back, slow, soothing strokes that, if Steve weren’t sick, would likely have the slender man crawling all over Bucky. If previous experience is anything to go by, anyway. 

“What…” Steve starts, but pauses. Bucky waits. “What about Universe 1610 Steve?” He finally asks, voice barely audible over the distant sounds of Brooklyn bustling by outside. 

Bucky hums, as if thinking, “I don’t know 1610 Steve. But I bet he’s nowhere near as handsome as you are. His spunk is probably just as fierce as yours, because, well, he’s a form of you. But I bet he doesn’t have the same heart you have. I bet he’s nowhere near as kind and welcoming and I bet he never made me swoon just by smiling at me. I reckon I’d end up sockin’1610 Steve on the jaw if I met’im.” 

There’s another long pause and for a moment, Bucky thinks Steve has fallen asleep. Which would be good because the punk needs to get better. But then Steve moves in Bucky’s arms, twisting up until he’s straddling Bucky’s lap and he puts himself nose-to-nose with Bucky.  


“How’d ya know 1610 Steve is an asshole? Are you secretly 387 Bucky? Cuz that Bucky is beefy’n’gorgeous like ya, but he can read minds’n’see the future. Are ya holdin’ out on me, Barnes?” 

Bucky manages to keep a straight face for exactly .02 seconds before he bursts out laughing once again. His cheeks and sides ache from this much laughter, but he wouldn’t give up the love swelling in his normally grumpy brain for anything. He honestly doesn’t know what he would do without this snarky little fighter. 

“I ain’t holdin’out on ya, Stevie. I just know you.” He brushes his nose against Steve’s in an innocent little butterfly kiss. “I know you may be an asshole, but you’re a _good_ asshole. _My_ asshole.”

Steve dissolves into a fit of giggles, though he would forever deny it. A fresh warmth pools in Bucky’s belly and seems to radiate out through his limbs, his hands unable to stop stroking over every bit of Steve he can touch as Steve giggles in his arms. 

“Yuck it up, sunshine,” he faux-grumbles, his broad grin proving, once again, than he should never play poker with Steve around. 

Steve slows into the occasional quiet giggle, head falling onto Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky remembers nights spent like this, with Steve in his lap, head on his shoulder, just the two of them in the dim night of Brooklyn. Remembers nights where they were both shivering, huddling together for warmth after their heat had been turned off. Remembers nights where they were skin-to-skin, Steve’s body hot and tight around his cock as Steve rolled his hips in slow, unsteady circles, driving them closer and closer to orgasm. 

He remembers mornings cocooned within blankets, wrapped around Steve as he slept peacefully on top of Bucky. He remembers sneaking out of bed, careful and quiet, to go make pancakes (gluten, egg, and dairy free) for breakfast in bed. Remembers sleepy kisses over coffee and syrup. 

Steve shifts on Bucky’s lap, pulling him from his memories and back to the current Steve. The one sniffling even as his breathing slows to something close to sleepy. Bucky can’t stop himself from pressing a kiss to Steve’s temple before shifting on the couch. One arm loops under Steve’s legs, the other stays curled around his shoulder as he lifts Steve with ease and heads back towards the bedroom. 

It’s a testament to how poor Steve is feeling that the only protest he gives is a mumbled grumble against Bucky’s neck about how he “can walk, ya jerk.”  


“Next time, I’ll let ya walk face first into the door frame, then,” Bucky teases, shouldering the door of their room open to set Steve down on their bed. He’s pretty sure watching Steve immediately set about cocooning himself again is one of the cutest things he’s ever seen - including that time the next door neighbour’s dog had puppies and Steve insisted on playing with them even though he sneezed every three seconds when around them. 

“I bet there’s a Bucky somewhere that woulda lemme do that.” Steve mumbles into Bucky’s pillow. Bucky’s grinning again even as he resigns himself to sleeping without a pillow tonight, since Steve’s seems to have disappeared into the nest on the bed.

Bucky flips the lights and crawls into bed next to Steve, pulling his blanket burrito of a boyfriend as close as he can. Steve jerks with a cough that makes Bucky’s chest ache in sympathy pain. In darker moments, when things are more severe and Steve’s life hangs in the balance, Bucky will find himself fervently wishing Steve is bigger, stronger, better. 

They lay in silence, the dark blanketing them from the world, wrapping them up into a tiny universe of just the two of them. Like it was meant to be, whispers some dark and possessive part of Bucky’s mind. Luckily, he’s smart enough to never _ever_ let Steve hear that one. Steve’s got weird ideas about possessiveness and shit. 

“Y’know what I think?” Bucky murmurs into the dark, not entirely convinced Steve is even still awake at this point. The silence goes on a hair too long and Bucky’s drawing in a breath to whisper his thought into the void anyway when Steve’s head peeks out of the blankets. His sleepy eyes are lit only by the Brooklyn streetlights sneaking in between the cracks in the blinds, but it’s enough for Bucky to see the silent question on his face. 

Another grin crosses his face as he kisses Steve’s forehead once more, voice barely audible in the dark. “I think every Bucky in all those universes has a Steve of his own, keepin’im company, givin’im hell, and givin’im a heart attack whenever he jumps into fights without thinkin’.” 

Steve buries his face in Bucky’s neck, his nose cold against Bucky’s skin despite all the blankets around him. A quiet hum vibrates in the space between them so Bucky keeps going, his hands burrowing under the blankets to press against Steve’s fever-hot yet chilled skin. 

“Can’t imagine a world where I don’t find ya, Stevie,” his voice is so quiet even Bucky isn’t sure he’s talking, but Steve presses impossibly closer to Bucky in a way that says he heard him. “Can’t imagine a life complete without ya in it.”

“Buck…” 

“Shh,” Bucky buries his face in Steve’s hair again, “for all those universes you got in that head of yours. I gotta tell ya, Stevie, this one will always be my favourite. Cuz it’s got ya, here, with me, to the end of the line and further, pal.”  


Steve makes a quiet whimper when Bucky uses the words that have become like a wedding vow between them, and then the smaller man is forcing Bucky to move back and away. Forcing Bucky to look at him as he shifts in Bucky’s arms so they’re once again nose-to-nose. Those familiar blue eyes of Steve’s are shining in the streetlights, fierce and beautiful. His nose is crooked, the aftermath of one too many broken noses, and his cheekbones are high and prominent. Bucky’s pretty sure that mouth of his is a sin - after all, his lips were _made_ for kissing (and other things), not to mention the filth Steve is capable of spewing out. 

A slender finger - the right index finger that’s almost perpetually covered in charcoal because Steve is an artist through and through - pokes Bucky’s cheek until Bucky stops getting lost in Steve’s features and actually listens to Steve. 

Only Steve doesn’t say anything. He just presses his lips to Bucky’s in a soft kiss. But that one kiss says everything Bucky needs to hear. It’s an affirmation, an _I love you_. It’s Steve, in this universe and every other universe he’s thought up, reminding Bucky that they’re together. _To the end of the line_. 

(More than that, it’s home.)


End file.
